#And by out in the world I mean connected to people

[makingspiritualityreal]

Qualities of the Nakshatras - How do you do what you do?

While the traditional Vedic classification of the qualities of the Nakshatras can be found in many common sources, few of them describe in detail, how that classification is applied in real life. I myself struggled and took my time pondering, analysing and discussing these qualities and their practical application, in order to be able to understand and then explain the reality of those particular Nakshatra traits.

For those who never heard of Nakshatra qualities, these are described as Chara, Sthira, Mrdu, Ugra, Tikshna, Kshipra and Mishra.

It is important to realise, that these descriptions show not just what activities will a given Nakshatra undertake, but how it operates, and if you look at your Moon Nakshatra, you will see that its quality will reflect your basic nature of being. However, that doesn't mean that all Nakshatras from the same group have the same jobs/interests/always do the same thing. It's more about how people "take up space" energetically, the style in which they bring about change.

Chara Nakshatra - "Moveable" - Shravana, Dhanishta, Shatabhisha, Punarvasu and Swati.

The word I would associate with those Nakshatras, more than simply moveable, is "dynamic". You can see it best perhaps in Dhanishta, that is notorious for its amazing natural sense of rhythm and association with dancing and being in the public eye. However, even Shatabhisha, that moves in the shadows, has a certain rhythm to it, coupled with restlessness. The energy here is breezy and flowing, and you can see it in those natives, even if they just sit and talk, that they are decidedly and constantly animated.

Sthira Nakshatra - "Fixed" - Rohini, Uttaraphalguni, Uttarashadha and Uttarabhadrapada.

The energy here is of a person in position of authority sitting on a throne and establishing something durable. I associate this Nakshatra group with authority, because there is something passively steady and indomitable about them. Their authority is a given, they are in their place and they don't feel the need to go out of their way to prove it, instead they build upon who they are. This is why this Nakshatra group in traditional Vedic sources is associated with making firm, long term decisions, as these people lay foundations for things that all the other Nakshatras build upon. Their position of authority comes from the fact, that decision making and authority often goes hand in hand. While the moveable Nakshatras make waves in motion, fixed Nakshatras can change the fate of the entire collective from their steady position with one decision.

Mrdu Nakshatra - "Tender" - Chitra, Anuradha, Mrigashira and Revati.

These Nakshatras relate to feelings and creations that are fleeting yet eternal at the same time. There is a certain contradiction here, as these natives may appear outwardly defensive, but that defensiveness is born out of necessity in a harsh world and hides deep sensitivity, and if you talk to them more, you will see their softer side, their attachment to beauty and harmony, and their fear of losing that serenity. Traditional Vedic sources point out their connection to subtlety of music, delicate, precious newly purchased things or clothing. More than the objects themselves, it's about the thrill of happiness such experiences give you. And even if they last not more than a moment, the reality of these Nakshatras is their sensitivity of creation and perception, their ability to see, that beauty and intricate delicacy can be found anywhere, and while you can never fundamentally shield it from all harm, it will always pop up in the world somewhere else, just like a flower, even if picked, will regrow next spring.

Ugra Nakshatra - "Violent" - Bharani, Magha, Purvaphalguni, Purvashadha, and Purvabhadrapada. 

The main theme of these Nakshatras is conquest, and while of course not all of these natives are interested in traditional warfare, these are the kind of people that occupy 100% of any space they are in and like to set the rules with their presence. Their naturally fierce presence can make them incredibly successful with the demands of the modern world, but even a housewife with Ugra Nakshatra is a force to be reckoned with. The conquest here can have multiple meanings, and gains a decidedly creative, romantic and sexual nature in Venusian Purva Phalguni and Purva Ashadha, to conquer one's object of desire. However, the energy here is really about internally conquering one's own weaknesses and wrestling with the animalistic, expansive desirous aspect of human nature.

Tikshna Nakshatra - "Sharp" - Moola, Jyeshta, Ardra and Ashlesha.

The real task of these Nakshatras is putting other people back in their place. While the fixed Nakshatras have a natural, calm authority coming from status, and violent Nakshatras can be intimidating, sharp Nakshatras automatically gain respect with their presence, because they are so ready to regulate people who are out of line. Their "sharpness" is required for that energy to be effective against others, especially since some Nakshatras like Ugra will not back down easily. However, unlike Ugra, these Nakshatras correct and regulate rather than express desire for outwards conquest, relying more on handling things, that are already out there, making these natives excellent in managerial positions. You can think of it in the context of Ardra being a passionate activist and critic of established social systems.

Kshipra Nakshatra - "Swift" -  Ashwini, Pushya and Hasta.

These Nakshatras operate in short but intense bursts of energy. Hasta is a good example, as it embodies the traditional business transaction - money and goods exchange hands, the deed is done, the seller moves on to the next one. Same with Pushya and spiritual teaching, delivering quick but valuable lessons and moving on to another student/activity/rest. The focus here is on efficiency and maximising good energy through limited and realistic potential.

Mishra Nakshatra - "Mixed" - Krittika and Vishakha.

An interesting aspect of these Nakshatras comes from how Vedic astrologers link them both to laying out furniture, electronics and fire rituals. You would think these two activities have nothing in common, but they are actually the key to the ceremonial nature of these Nakshatras. In modern households, few houses have a fireplace, but fire pits in the middle of the main living space used to be traditional in old houses, to keep them warm and for religious purposes. In the 21st century, a grand television set is god, and coupled with a comfortable couch it is what sets the scene in a home. And this is what these Nakshatras do, energetically, set the scene both for worship and to be worshipped, establishing a relationship between the viewer and the viewed. For that reason, there is a sense of fiery dramatism in these Nakshatras, ready to both worship and be worshipped at any given time.

[lavenderhateswritting]

Bruce Wayne x Male Reader

This is me kinda going further in depth on my ideas about Bruce and divorced BatDad link

There has to be something you're not understanding. At least that's what you have to keep telling yourself there has to be something here that doesn't connect that you aren't picking up on. Bruce has a biological child. A biological child who has been alive for less years than you have been married. Bruce cheated on you. Again.

The air in the cave is acrid. The boy. Damian. His name is Damian. Is speaking to Bruce. He's Talia's son because of course he's fucking Talia's son. God.

The world around you feels like its millions of miles away, muffled and unreachable to you. You should have known. Talia had known him long before you had come into the picture and had always been so much more than you could ever be. It wasn't just Talia though it was so many more than Talia and you kept telling yourself that it wasn't true because you just couldn't believe it.

Now there's no denying it. Now there's a child and now you had to make a choice because if you didn't nothing was going to change.

You must have been standing there for too long looking into space floating into a world where your marriage is happy and your husband loyal because Bruce finally walks up to you. He stands in front of you his cowl is down and his eyes have hardened hemselves. He's prepared for the coversation then great.

"You'll have to start the paperwork to get him in school." You finally say. The first thing you've said for 40 mins and for just a second you can see the confusion hits him for just a moment and then its gone. God forbid he shows you any fucking emotion.

"But you probably shouldn't do that before you acclimate him to average people." Your voice is airy like you're a second away from crying.

"And you're gonna need him to do placement tests - "

"Y/N I know you want to talk about this." He's interupting you.

"Because he's probably ahead of his grade and we - "

"Y/N please can we talk about this."

" We don't want him to take grades he doesn't need to. And I am talking about it. I'm telling you what you need to do for your child. You and Talia's child." Your breathe is starting to come out faster as you speak.

"I mean what else could there be to talk about. You, cheating on me. Again. With another woman. I mean do you even like men Bruce cause god knows you love cheating on me with women." Your hands are shaking now. It feels like you've been drenched in cold water.

"That's not important you have another child you need to take care of and unlik the others you can't fall back on me to handle the the civilian aspect." You finally look back into his eyes there's nothing there. Of course.

"Y/N please calm down we're going to talk about this, we're going to get through this, and handle this Damian situation together." He's grabbed your hands now the gloves of his suit means you can't feel him against your skin only the thick sturdy material.

"No, we aren't, you are." His eyes finally show a flash of fear like he understands what's finally happening.

"Y/N please try and be reasonable. You're in shock and I understand why, but you aren't thinking straight you just need to sleep through the night and then we can talk." His hands are griping you tighter like if he lets you go you'll run for the hills. Maybe he's right to be scared.

"Yeah I'll go to sleep and we'll talk about this later beacuse you need to go on patrol and this mission will always be more important than our fucking relationship. And then when I wake up you'll tell me it'll neve happen again and that you're sorry right. Like how you did with Selina, or Viki, or FUCKING TALIA. And then I'm goint to forgive you again and again and again because I love you, but you don't love me, do you Bruce." You hands have stopped shaking this isn't scary anymore. This is necessary for you you need to get out of this relationship or it's going to kill you.

"Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in the world you know this." He actually for once looks sad and isn't that something.

"But you don't love me enough to not cheat on me and I don't blame you. I keep forgiving you so why would you stop. Not this time though let go of me Bruce." His grip on you had gotten tighter and tighter as the conversation continued it was bordering on painful.

"If I let you go will you be here when I come home tonight." He's scared you've managed to scare Batman isn't that something.

"Don't make me lie to you. Don't make me treat you like you treat me." He flinches back like you've slapped him across the face and finally drops your arms. He probably would have perfered it if you had simply smacked him. Violence he understood. Violence was something he was good at.

"Is there anything I can say that will make you still be here when I come home." His voice hitches the smallest amount pushed down as soon as it comes up.

"No, and I think you already know that. I love you Bruce." You turn toward the staircase back up to the manor. You'll need to pack and stay in the penthouse tonight and then in the moring make a plan. You've reached the first step of your climb when Bruce finally speaks again.

"I love you Y/N I promise you I do."

There's no point in turning back so you keep going forward.

[issues4him]

KNISMOLAGNIA x BSF!RAFE

cw : tickle kink, smut, 18+, f receiving oral, penetration, alcohol, drunk confessions

the boneyard was alive. laughter, music, firelight dancing in the distance—everything pulsed like a heartbeat under the stars. you were long past tipsy, clinging to rafe’s arm like he was a lifeline, your body warm and loose against his as you stumbled barefoot across the sand in your jean shorts and black bikini top, “raaaaaafe,” you whined dramatically, tugging at the hem of his shirt, “you’re, like… my favorite person ever. you know that?”

he glanced down at you, brows raised, beer still in hand. “you’ve already told me that five times now, hun.”

“okay, but like—i mean it this time.”

“you said you meant it the other four times too.”

you burst out laughing, then suddenly gasped and clung to his side like you were being swept away by the tide. “wait—oh my god—this is so embarrassing but i have to tell you something.”

rafe looked amused, his free hand steadying you by your waist. “you better not be ‘bout to tell me you buried a body or somethin’, pretty girl?”

“worse.” you gave him a wide-eyed look, finger pressed to your lips like you were sharing a top-level secret. “it’s about sex.”

that caught his attention. he blinked, actually turning toward you this time, jaw tightening just slightly. “okay…”

you leaned in, almost conspiratorially, your words slow and slurry. “i have this thing… like this kink, i guess? but i don’t even remember what it’s called!”

“do i even want to know?” he muttered, though there was a smirk playing at his lips.

“okay… i get, like, sooo turned on when i get ticked,” you said plainly, like it was the most casual thing in the world. “like—not in a haha way. like in a fuck-me-right-now kinda way.” rafe nearly choked on his drink. you blinked up at him sweetly, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. “like, i don’t even know why, okayy? but every time someone tickles my sides i get all—mmf!!—and like, my legs get weak and i can’t help it, it’s soooo annoying.”

he stared at you. “are you being serious right now?”

you nodded enthusiastically, cheeks flushed from the alcohol—and maybe the confession. “dead serious. like, do you know what i mean? like when they get that spot just under your ribs and you can’t stop laughing but also it’s kinda like—ugh, i don’t know. it’s like electric. just makes me so horny”

“…you’re insane.”

“hey!!” you defended, poking his chest. “i’m being vulnerable right now.”

rafe ran a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose as if trying to reset his brain. “okay, well. thank you for that information. that’ll be real useful next time someone tries to torture you.”

you giggled, stumbling forward and latching onto him again. “shut uppp!! you’ve done it before.”

“done what?”

“tickled me, duh.”

he stiffened. because she was right. he had tickled her before. a million times. and now… now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

when he pulled up to your house later that night—well past two a.m., the car quiet except for your soft humming in the passenger seat—rafe couldn’t stop replaying what you’d said.

“i get sooo turned on when people tickle me.”

at first, he laughed it off. crazy drunk girl shit. but then his brain started connecting dots he shouldn’t have been connecting. like the time he’d tackled you onto the couch during movie night because you kept stealing the remote. his fingers found your ribs and you shrieked, kicking and squirming, breathy laughter spilling out as you tried to fight him off. he remembered the way your back arched under him, how your laugh broke into something softer, breathier—how your thighs clamped together and your face flushed so hard it made him uncomfortable. or the time at the beach when he picked you up and you’d squealed, instinctively trying to protect your sides. he dug in anyway, just to mess with you, and you went limp in his arms, laughing but gasping too—your head falling back against his shoulder like you couldn’t breathe right. he thought about your face. the way your eyes fluttered shut. the way you bit your lip after, like you were recovering from something more than just a tickle fight.

holy fuck. you weren’t kidding. you were into that. and now he couldn’t unsee it. rafe leaned his head back against the car seat, staring up at the ceiling like it could give him answers. he should’ve just ignored it. laughed it off. but instead all he could think about was how many times he’d unknowingly gotten you off by doing something as stupid as tickling you. and how much he suddenly wanted to do it on purpose.

it had been six days since that night at the boneyard. three days since you got drunk out of your mind, draped yourself all over rafe like he was your personal tree to climb, and slurred out confessions that had echoed in his head every single night since. you’d whispered it, how much getting tickled turned you on, drunk and giggling, like it was a throwaway joke. but rafe hadn’t laughed. he’d gone silent. because once you said it—once you planted that thought—he couldn’t unsee it.

he kept replaying every time he’d ever made you laugh. every time his hands found your sides and you squirmed, laughing so hard you cried. the way your back arched. the way your thighs squeezed together. the breathless sounds between your giggles. that one time you bit your lip after, still catching your breath. he thought it was innocent and harmless. but now he knew. and it was driving him insane. so when you invited him over for movie night that friday—completely casual, like nothing had happened—he knew what he wanted to do. and he’d been working up the nerve to do it the entire night.

the movie had been forgotten twenty minutes ago. it was still playing in the background—some half-watched action sequence flashing against the walls—but you and rafe had started bickering over something stupid. you’d been sitting side by side, blanket draped over both your legs, tossing popcorn at each other and fighting over which actor was hotter. nothing new. until you rolled your eyes, shoved the blanket off, and suddenly climbed over him—planting your knees on either side of his lap, straddling him with that same innocent energy you always had.

just best friends. just teasing. you weren’t even thinking. “take it back,” you demanded, pushing a hand against his chest, your oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. “he is not hotter than jake gyllenhaal.”

rafe leaned back against the couch, arms spread lazily along the back, letting you sit on him like it was normal. like your bare thighs weren’t warm and soft around his hips. like you weren’t sitting right on top of him. “you’re insane,” he smirked. “you just like him ‘cause he’s your type—soft jaw, pretty eyes, pathetic little mouth.”

you gasped, shoving him harder. “omg, rude!”

he chuckled under his breath, his hands moving slowly to rest on your hips, gripping gently—probably without even realizing it. you shifted on top of him without thinking, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms over your chest. rafe’s eyes flicked downward. he couldn’t help it. the way your breath hitched from laughing so hard earlier. the fact that you were on his lap, t-shirt sliding up, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to hide the heat of your body against his. “y’know…” he murmured, head tilting, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flutter. “you sit on my lap a lot for someone who calls me her best friend.”

you blinked, mouth parting. “wha—i do not—”

“oh, you do.” his thumbs rubbed slow circles against your hips now, the barest pressure behind his words. “kinda makes me think you like being in my lap.”

you froze. just for a second. then you swatted at him. “shut up.”

he grinned. you tried to shift off him. big mistake. because he gripped your waist tighter and sat forward slightly. “nuh-uh. you’re not going anywhere, hun.”

“rafe—”

“you’re the one who got on me, remember?” and before you could argue, his fingers dug into your sides.

your body jerked, hard. a loud, involuntary shriek shot out of your mouth, laughter tumbling after it like a broken faucet. “NO—RAFE—” you gasped, immediately squirming and flailing, trying to escape his hands as he tickled your ribs. but you couldn’t. not when he had you straddling him, knees digging into the couch cushions, body locked against his. and you were laughing so hard. the kind of laughing that had you breathless, squeaking, twitching uncontrollably. your hands grabbed at his shirt, then his wrists, then back to his shirt again—like you couldn’t decide whether to push him away or hold on for dear life.

your hips rolled against his by accident. once. then again. and that’s when he felt it. your squirming. the soft drag of your warmth over the bulge that was very quickly forming beneath his sweats. rafe cursed internally. he almost stopped. almost told himself to pull back, to take a breath. but then you tipped your head back, your hair falling down your back, your laughter cracking into something breathy and desperate—and he lost all control.

he grabbed you tighter, then suddenly shifted. you let out a surprised squeak as he flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion, climbing on top of you now, knees planted on either side of your thighs. he hovered above you, grinning down like the devil himself. “rafe—no, don’t—” you panted through laughter, trying to wriggle beneath him.

“don’t what?” he murmured. “do this?” he started again. fingertips ghosting over your waist, your ribs, down to your hips and back up. every time you tried to block him, he’d change directions—tickling beneath your arms, then the dip beneath your ear, then up your neck, watching your face the whole time. and that’s when he saw it. your laugh started to fade into something softer. your eyes fluttered. your mouth parted. a tiny—almost imperceptible—moan slipped past your lips. and then you bit your lip hard, cheeks burning so pink it made rafe freeze.

the giggles were still there, but they were cracked and shaky, like you were holding back. your hands grabbed fistfuls of the blanket beneath you like you needed to ground yourself. and your thighs… your thighs were shifting open beneath his. rafe swallowed hard, watching your face like he was seeing it for the first time. your chest rising and falling fast. your lips bitten red. that same dazed, needy look in your eyes he’d only seen once before—three nights ago, in a car, while you were drunk and vulnerable and honest.

now you weren’t drunk. and you still looked the same. you looked worse. wrecked. but you hadn’t said a word. his fingers dragged slowly down your thigh—pausing just at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. you flinched—but didn’t move away. cidn’t say no. you were staring up at him, blinking slowly, lips barely parted, chest still heaving. silent now. but your body said everything.

rafe’s voice broke the silence. low and strained. “…you sure you don’t remember what you told me last weekend at the party?”

your face went even redder. you didn’t answer. but your thighs opened further beneath his hips. and that was all he needed.

your thighs parted for him, wide and slow like your body was acting on instinct before your brain could catch up. you were breathing hard. still dazed. still trying to keep your eyes on his, but they kept flicking downward—down to his lips, down to where he hovered above you. rafe didn’t move at first. he just stared. you, laid out beneath him. face flushed, chest rising and falling in fast, uneven breaths, hands tangled in the blanket like you didn’t know what to do with them.

his hands slid down your hips, then back up. slow. careful. like he was waiting for you to stop him. but you didn’t. you arched into it. a soft, breathy whimper left your lips, and that’s when his restraint shattered completely. rafe leaned down and kissed you. not rushed. not clumsy. hungry. his mouth met yours like he’d been starving for it—like he couldn’t believe he was finally tasting you. and you kissed him back without hesitation, lips parting instantly, desperate and breathless, moaning into his mouth like it was second nature.

your hands found his shirt—fisted the fabric, dragged him closer, pulled him into you. his hips dipped, grinding down against yours, and the pressure made your eyes roll back. you could feel how hard he was. and he knew you felt it—because he groaned low in his throat, lips dragging to your jaw, then down your neck. “fuck, babe,” he whispered against your skin. “i’ve wanted this for so long.”

your eyes snapped open. “wh—what?”

rafe didn’t stop. he kissed the hollow beneath your ear, then nipped gently at your pulse point as his hands slid under your hoodie. “the way you laugh… the way you move when i touch you. been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy.” he pushed the t-shirt up slowly, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, then higher. you gasped when his mouth met your ribs. then again when he moved lower, trailing kisses along the inside of your thigh. you didn’t even realize when he’d slipped down the couch, dragging your shorts down with him—until the cold air hit the damp heat between your legs.

rafe froze. his voice was dark and ragged. “you’re soaked.”

you whimpered, hiding your face behind your arm. “shut up!—”

“don’t do that,” he said immediately, voice firmer now. “don’t hide from me.” his hands gripped your knees, spreading them wider apart as he settled between your thighs, eyes locked on your ruined panties. “you’re beautiful,” he murmured. “and this?” his thumb dragged over the damp fabric. “this is the hottest fucking thing i’ve ever seen.” you nearly whimpered. “can i?” he asked, fingers tugging gently at the waistband.

you nodded—fast, breath caught in your throat. he peeled them down slow, savoring every inch. and when you were bare for him, legs trembling and eyes glassy, he groaned—like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. then he lowered his mouth, and everything melted. he was slow and patient. tongue soft at first—teasing little flicks that made your toes curl—then deeper, firmer, sucking your clit into his mouth and groaning when your hips bucked against him. he held your thighs open, keeping you in place, moaning into you like he couldn’t get enough.

you were gasping. whining. one hand buried in his hair, the other clutching the pillow beneath your head, hips rolling helplessly with every stroke of his tongue. you felt high. drunk off him. he pulled back just enough to look at you—lips shiny, eyes heavy. “you’re gonna cum for me,” he murmured. “just like this.”

you nodded, desperate, thighs shaking as he sucked on your clit again, tongue circling exactly where you needed it. and when you finally shattered—mouth falling open in a broken moan, thighs clamping tight around his head—he groaned, dragging it out, letting you ride it through until you were trembling and boneless beneath him.

he crawled back up your body, kissed your lips again—slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue—and whispered, “…still just best friends, huh?”

you were still panting, body buzzing, heartbeat trying to settle. your orgasm had left you shaky, soft, and splayed across the couch—completely bare now beneath your hoodie. you blinked up at him through your lashes, flushed and messy and so undeniably wrecked from just his mouth. rafe hovered above you, bracing himself with one hand next to your head. his other trailed gently along your ribs—barely touching. you flinched slightly, even though it wasn’t rough. your breath hitched. he noticed.

his fingers traced the same spot again, “you’re still ticklish,” he murmured, voice low and deep. “even now?”

you swallowed hard. “rafe…”

he smirked—dark and knowing. “does it still turn you on?” you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. because your hips rolled toward him again. your thighs parted just a little. your breath came in shorter puffs, and your cheeks were right pink. so he did it again. light, teasing brushes across your sides. feather touches up your waist. just enough to make you squirm and let out the softest, broken laugh. but this time, it wasn’t giggles. it wasn’t a squeal. it was a whimper of laughter. like your brain couldn’t decide what to feel.

you covered your face with your hands, body twisting beneath him. “stop—stop, it’s—it’s too much—” but your smile betrayed you. so did your wet thighs. so did the way your knees slid further apart, welcoming him between them like you needed it.

rafe’s eyes burned into you, filled with something almost wild now. his cock was rock-hard, straining against the fabric of his sweats, already leaking just from watching you come undone like that. “fuck,” he rasped, leaning down so his lips grazed yours. “you’re unreal.”

you whimpered. “please.”

that’s all it took. his hands pushed down his sweats, not even fully off—just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed and aching. he stroked himself once, then twice, eyes never leaving your face as he settled between your legs, rubbing the head against your slick folds. you moaned—eyes fluttering, hips lifting into him. still teasing, he dragged the tip up and down, just barely pushing in, “look at me,” he said. you opened your eyes. “tell me you want it.”

“i—i want it,” you whispered, breathless. he pushed in slow, and your whole body tensed. the stretch—thick, slow, deliberate—pulled a broken moan from your lips as you reached for his arms, nails digging into his biceps. “rafe—oh my god—”

“fuck,” he groaned, pushing deeper, inch by inch. “you feel so good. so tight, baby.”

your breath hitched. baby. he was all the way in now, hips flush against yours, both of you frozen for a second—so close, so deep, so overwhelmed. then he moved. slow, deep thrusts that had your mouth falling open. his hips rolled just right, grinding into your clit with every stroke. he leaned down, mouth dragging across your neck, lips parted against your flushed skin. you wrapped your legs around his waist. held him tighter. tried to breathe through how good it felt. but he couldn’t stop teasing.

his fingers slid along your ribs again. soft and deliberate. you gasped, laughing through your moan as your hips twitched up into him. “rafe—”

“still works, huh?” he murmured against your throat. “even when i’m inside you?” you nodded helplessly, your laugh dissolving into another shaky moan when his cock hit that perfect spot again. your body was confused. overstimulated. kverwhelmed. he tickled your neck again. not hard. not playful. just barely enough to drive you insane. and your pussy fluttered around he murmured against your throat.

you whined, biting your lip, face burning. but you didn’t ask him to stop. you didn’t want him to. every time he thrust in—slow, thick, heavy—he’d let his fingers brush that one spot just beneath your ribs or along your thigh or under your knee. and you’d laugh. gasp. moan. twitch. over and over. it was so much. too much.

your nails clawed at his back now. your legs were shaking. your body was so overstimulated it felt like the pleasure had nowhere else to go. “rafe—i’m gonna cum again—”

he grabbed your jaw, forcing your eyes back to his. “then cum, baby girl. just like that. laughing and moaning all over my dick.”

you shattered. back arched. mouth open in a silent moan. your body went tight, pussy clenching hard around him as your climax rolled through you like a wave as he fucked you through it.

still slow. still deep. still tickling your ribs with one hand while the other gripped your thigh, dragging out your high until you were whimpering beneath him. “shit, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he groaned. “i’m gonna cum—shit—fuck—” he kissed you hard as he thrust deep one final time, cock pulsing as he emptied into you, groaning your name against your mouth. for a moment, the room was silent. just your panting. his weight on top of you. your fingers still tangled in his hair. then you both started laughing—breathless, dazed, stunned.

“what the hell just happened,” you whispered.

rafe kissed your cheek, still inside you, beginning to soften. “i think,” he murmured, “i just found a very specific way to get whatever i want from you.” you bit your lip, cheeks burning. then he tickled you side gently. you flinched—and groaned. “…please don’t start.”

a/n: lmk what u guys thought of this pls!!!!

[berlynn-wohl]

Apologies in advance but I have to get serious here for a minute about the subject of "being intimidated by fanfic authors." This is more con-oriented than Tumblr-oriented but the sentiments are applicable to both.

It makes me so upset whenever I think of all the times I went to a con and couldn't seem to find anyone to talk to. After being on a few panels where I made jokes about the joys of writing about dicks and butts, I would walk around, and it just seemed like folks were all doing their own thing, not inviting me to join them. I would always think, Oh, story checks out, everyone is put off because I'm a weird freak, it's just like in high school. Then I'd go back to my hotel room and wonder what I spent all this money for, coming here to be lonely.

Then, in the days after the con, I would see posts from other con-goers, or receive messages: "omg berlynn i was too shy to say hello at the con but i just want you to know that your fics mean everything to me and you're so amazing."

I really do appreciate those kind words, but...it would have been cool to actually hang out with you, you know?

One time I had the opportunity to chat with with a trio of folks who were the guests of honor at this con because they were screening their gorgeous and charming fan film, and they confessed to me that the day before, they had walked into a room, seen that I was there, and walked out because they were too intimidated at the very idea of being in the room with me. (So I sat alone and silent in that room for 20 more minutes.)

The thing is, even if I was the most popular fanfic writer in the history of the world, connecting with other fans and forming friendships is the only compensation I get. I don't eat better because you liked my fic. I don't get a swag bag worth $5,000 when I check into my hotel room at a con because I wrote that one omegaverse fic that everyone read. I do what I do and I write what I write because I want to be part of a community of fans.

But I should note that all is not loneliness and misery for Berlynn. I have had some of the greatest moments of my life making connections with people who actually did speak to me at cons. Sometimes it was just a hug and a few happy tears, sometimes it was deep philosophical discussions about writing dicks and butts while sitting on the floor of a party suite at two in the morning...but several of my IRL friends are people who were not afraid to just reach out to me after a panel, or say hello at the bar.

Here's how it might go when you connect with your favorite fanfic author: One of my closest friends is someone who was a big fan of my work, introduced to me by a mutual friend. Sitting across from me at a restaurant not too long after our introduction, this person had to point out to me that, whilst gesticulating exuberantly over my meal, I had gotten some macaroni and cheese on my sleeve. After that, they were not so starstruck anymore, and now we live in the same building, which makes it easy for us to hang out and giggle over old TV shows together a couple times a week.

Probably there are fanfic writers who don't want to be bothered, who don't want to be messaged, who aren't in it for the social connection...but they are not the ones following you on social media. They're not the ones with their inboxes open, anonymous messages on. And they're not the ones strolling through the common areas at cons looking for an empty seat at a table.

nothing scarier than being a fan of a fic and then becoming mutuals with the author. like hi shakespeare. big fan of your fake dating au

[yoursweetyinnie]

out of this world — kim minjeong.

PAIRING — alien!winter x fem!reader

GENRE — sci-fi (?), fluff

CW — none

INSPIRATION — I DO by (g)i-dle

winter sits while swinging her legs back and forth on the swing while you sat beside her in the other.

you both sat alone together in the park as evening was hitting. the sound of crickets, and the shining of the moon with the stars in the sky.

the silence was comfortable, nonetheless, and you found yourself amused watching winter swinging back and forth slightly.

“enjoying yourself?” you ask the girl who was carefree of any worries.

she smiles and nods looking at you.

“so you’re telling me you know all the stars in the sky? even by their names?” winter’s eyes light up as you brought up her knowledge of the stars.

“i know….big dipper….little dipper….” she tries to say with her broken english. you nod as you let her continue.

“big dipper help guide in north side!” winter’s eyes light excitedly, “little dipper does same.”

“my people…study everyone. we know for travel.” she explains to which you nod.

“that’s really cool. wish i had that much knowledge. you’re smart.” you say.

winter shakes her head, “i teach you!”

she went on a little ramble about the stars, as well as the different planets and their meanings. it was a cute sight to see, especially how her smile practically light up the whole playground.

she also explained how there’s more planets and galaxies than what humans know, which shocked you. you were definitely intrigued by the girl.

“what about humans? do you guys study us?” you ask, a bit hesitant as it may come off stereotypical.

she giggles, “yes. but, you different. my favorite!”

you felt a small blush on your face as she said this with happiness. “but i’m the only human you know.”

she nods, “yes! still favorite!” she insists. her antics made butterflies in your stomach.

never in your life did you think that you’d become a companion with an alien, but it felt normal, nonetheless.

winter trusted you that you’d keep her identity a secret. after all, she does look human enough to blend in with the human species.

ever since you found her, she’s found a connection to you. one that she couldn’t really understand or put into words.

she just knew she loved being with you every moment she had here on earth.

she smiles holding your hand tightly, like it was casual, but you didn’t stop her.

you didn’t know what this unspoken thing was between you and the girl, but it felt like a sure thing.

[yvesssssssss]

Hello!! I’ve been reading your works for quite a time, and I noticed that you are caring the fandom on your back so here’s your crown 👑

anyways, can you please do a nagumo x f!reader where reader was an assassin but sustained a big injury that she can’t work anymore. Reader used to love being an assassin she took pride in her work ( she works with posion maybe?), but when she got injured she got depressed and cut off all her relationships with anything containing assassination, people from her past, etc. She decided to work for sakamoto (because let’s be real who doesn’t wanna be apart of their family?)

anyway, that’s all! You don’t have to if you don’t wanna! Please and thank you!

That’s really sweet of you, but I’m definitely not carrying anything, just adding to what everyone else is creating! Still, thank you so much for reading and supporting my work. It really means a lot!(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

The smell of miso and grilled fish wafted through the shop, mingling with the crisp scent of fresh vegetables and the occasional hint of gunpowder that clung to Nagumo’s coat. He leaned against the counter, watching you with a lazy smirk as you meticulously arranged the produce.

“Never thought I’d see you working retail, sweetheart.”

You didn’t look up. “Never thought I’d see you shopping for groceries.”

Nagumo laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Sakamoto’s got me on dinner duty.” He tapped the recipe card in his hand. “Figured I’d drop by and see an old friend while I was at it.”

The word ‘friend’ made something in your chest tighten. You weren’t sure if it was guilt or nostalgia.

It had been a year since you left the assassin world. A year since a mission had gone sideways, and a well-placed bullet had shattered your ribs, tearing through muscle and nerve in a way that even the best surgeons couldn’t fully repair. You had always prided yourself on your skill—subtlety, precision, the art of toxins slipping unnoticed into a drink or coating the edge of a blade. But now? Your hands trembled when you tried to do the delicate work. Your body didn’t respond the way it once did.

So you disappeared. Cut ties with the Order, with every connection to the life you once loved. You buried your knives, drowned your pride, and took a job at Sakamoto’s store because—what else was there to do?

You weren’t expecting Nagumo to come looking for you.

He picked up a tomato from the display, spinning it between his fingers before setting it down. “You really weren’t gonna call me, huh?”

You sighed. “Nagumo—”

“I mean, I get it,” he interrupted, smile never faltering, but his voice softer now. “You always hated being weak. And I bet you think if you let me back in, I’ll see you differently.”

You clenched your jaw. He always read you too well.

“But here’s the thing,” he continued, stepping closer. “I don’t care if you’re mixing poison or stocking shelves. You’re still you. And I still like you.”

Your fingers curled against the wooden counter. “It’s not that simple.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.”

You finally looked at him, really looked. The sharp lines of his face, the ever-present mischief in his eyes, but beneath it—a sincerity that made your heart ache.

“…Dinner duty, huh?” you murmured, reaching for the recipe card in his hand. “You’re gonna burn the rice.”

Nagumo grinned. “That an offer to help?”

You exhaled, shaking your head. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to cut everything from your past away.

“Just a warning.”

He clicked his tongue, leaning in slightly. “C’mon, don’t be like that. What if I trade you a secret?”

You arched a brow, crossing your arms. “Depends on the secret.”

Nagumo smirked, voice lowering like he was about to tell you the world’s greatest conspiracy. “Sakamoto’s been sneaking extra snacks behind his wife’s back. I’ve got photographic evidence.”

Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. The first real one in a while. “That’s not much of a secret.”

“It is if you don’t want to get tackled by Aoi-san.”

You shook your head, feeling something ease in your chest. Maybe healing wasn’t about cutting yourself off. Maybe it was about letting the right people in.

“…Alright,” you said, grabbing a bag of rice from the shelf and tossing it at him. “Let’s make sure you don’t poison everyone first.”

Nagumo caught it effortlessly, grinning. “Now that’s the spirit.”

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 2, Part 2

Masterpost (Thank you jaythefae for reading over this so that I could post it! This migraine has me writing a lot of swapped words.)

Okay, okay fuck. That wasn’t what Wally was going for at all!

It was a tower! Like Titan’s tower and the lightning bolt was supposed to be him. He was trying to tell them who he was, not spell doom. Who made a tower doom?

Wally put his fingers to his lips and paced. Or paced as much as he could. If he went too far from Danny (and boy had it taken a long time to even learn Danny’s name) he would… disintegrate, for lack of a better word. And wow did Wally want a better word because he did not like disintegrating. People shouldn’t disintegrate!

“Okay, okay, I can work with this! I did go through a major—” Wally leaned in to try and hear the conversation. Danny was clear enough, but anything Mina (or not Danny) said was like listening to the words through wind storm.

“…upheaval and destruction. Change, basically,” Mina said.

He wished she’d shout.

“And… change is doom?” Danny said. He sounded as dubious as Wally felt about that.

Mina shrugged. “People don’t — change. Like — so they get grum— and then— and tada! Change bad.”

“Well, I mean. Of course they went through a change, they’re dead,” Danny said.

Wally winced so hard he bumped into and through Danny’s shoulder. Danny shuddered at the touch.

“Or if not dead, trapped somewhere,” Danny added with a glance towards where Wally was standing.

It was a good sign that Danny was starting consider that Wally wasn’t a ghost. Wally really, really didn’t think that he was dead, after all. But how to get across that he was trapped in the Speed Force? He didn’t think there would be a card for that.

Wally zipped over to Mina’s side, took the cards, and shuffled through them. He really wished that he knew what these damn things meant. A small part of his brain said that messing with the cards like this was messing up the meaning, but fortune telling wasn’t real. (At least not normal human fortune telling.) Once he had finished stacking the spread set with cards he hoped would be useful, he put the cards back and returned to Danny’s side.

The world blurred and crackled around him.

This was using too much energy that he didn’t have. Something had to come from it.

Please.

This had to help.

-

“Well, that wasn’t any help.”

“Don’t say that Danny,” Mina said, but even she was frowning slightly down at her cards as if they were a puppy that had piddled on the floor.

“Do you want to go grab some food? I’m craving one of those avocado, tofu, and facon sandwiches from that place you love.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds excellent,” Mina said, perking up. She stood from the table and started back towards the kitchen. “But before you go, I want to give you some of a special tea. It will help you settle into a sort of zone so that maybe you can have a better chance of connecting with your spirit without you being hurt.”

“Mina Aleshire, are you giving me drugs?” Danny gasped dramatically as he wandered after her, Hubris held limply in his arms.

She paused in opening the cabinet, as if really having to consider the question. “Well, nothing illegal?”

“Mina!”

“It’s an herbal blend!” she argued. “Just, maybe don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do for a few hours after taking it. You know, just in case.”

Danny sighed. “The worst part is that I’m really considering taking this mystery herb blend.”

“It’s better than having seizures,” she pointed out as she handed him a little satchel.

“It’s better than having seizures,” he agreed and took it.

-

The tea smelled like rain and honeysuckle. Danny cradled the mug he was using more carefully than the thick, chipped ceramic warranted. The warmth seeped into his palms and bones. He breathed the pungent smell in and then let out the breath slowly.

He didn’t know if this would work.

It was almost certainly a bad idea, what with him being not entirely human, but it was at least an idea. Danny had never seen one of Mina’s readings go so badly. It went so badly that Danny felt certain that the ‘ghost’ had been interfering. The problem was, is that Danny didn’t know if the sabotage was on purpose or from ignorance.

He wanted to believe that it was ignorance. That the ghost had been trying to tell them something, but in doing so had messed up the reading. But Danny always wanted to believe the best in people.

It had gotten him burned too often.

It might get him burned again if the ghost was really out to hurt him. Mina couldn’t give him the clearest answer on what the tea was going to do, but Danny was pretty sure that it was going to make his spirit less attached to his body for a bit so that he could commune with the things not of this realm. A less attached spirit meant one that was easier to sever.

But he was already half dead, so what did it matter?

Or so he told himself.

Before he could run around the logic again, Danny tipped the mug back and took a long, slow sip. It was spicier than he expected, but in a good way. He drained half the cup steadily as he slowly settled into the mound of pillows that made up his bed. It really wasn’t half bad, for magical drug tea.

“I think I can smell that from here. Which, dude, is saying a lot because I’m stuck in the Speed Force.”

Danny hummed. “What’s the Speed Force?”

“What’s the—can… can you hear me? Can you actually hear me? Did the weird tea do something?!?” the words came in such a rush that they were hard to follow. It didn’t help that they sounded like they were coming from a badly tuned ham radio.

“Slower. You have to be slower. I can barely understand you. You’re static. You’re always static to me,” Danny said.

“Sorry. I’m sorry! I’m sorry I am and that I hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t mean to. But you’re the only one that I can hear and see! I need your help!” The words sped up and up again until they were a blur—a roar—a scream—

The mug hit the mattress and bounced onto the floor with a crack as Danny clutched at his head to try to block the sound out.

The talking stopped.

His head continued to ring.

Danny curled up into the pillows with a whimper.

It was a minute or days later when Danny felt fingers running through his hair. They were wonderfully warm.

“—always hurting you. You keep trying for me though, don’t you?”

“Wanta help,” Danny mumbled.

The fingers stilled then picked back up their path. “I need the help too, which is… I’m supposed to be the hereo here, you know?”

“You’re dead,” Danny said.

“Ugh, no! Come on, you were finally moving away from that idea, Danny! I’m not dead! I’m trapped in the Speed Force.”

Danny finally found the strength to roll himself over. Bright blue eyes set among fiery hair and a beautiful scattering of freckles blinked down at him. Danny reached up an unsteady hand to brush over one of the freckled cheeks.

“Speed Force?”

“What gives me my powers. Something went wrong and I’m trapped. You seem to be the only one that can hear or see me and it’s hurting you.”

“Yeah, seizures suck,” Danny said. The world around them was just a swirl of color. Like when a ride at a carnival was spinning so fast that nothing was real anymore. “I don’t think I’m going to be okay when I wake up.”

They laughed, but it was a bitter, choked off sound. “No, Danny, I don’t think you’re going to be okay either.”

“Oh. How can I help you?”

They shook their head, red hair flew about. “You should focus on yourself.”

“Already hurt,” Danny pointed out. “Make it worth it. How can I help you?”

Their blue eyes searched his and then closed as they gave an almost keening whine. Man, they really were worried about him, weren’t they?

“If you can remember, go to Titan’s Tower,” they said finally. “Ask for Nightwing and… and tell him that I said that he's a real dick, okay?”

Danny blinked.

The world spun and spun and spun.

“What?”

“He’ll know what I mean,” they insisted. “He’ll know it’s from me. Tell the Titans that I’m with you and I’m trapped in the Speed Force and I need them to get me out.”

There was an alarm screaming now. Was it time to get up?

“And take care of yourself a little, okay?”

People were shouting.

“Okay.”

The world went dark.

[belowaveragesaber]

It was a surreal experience. Firstly, there was no sort of preparation — I'm the prince, there's no way the dragon would try to take me. If I met a dragon, it'd be to take it out! ...Or, more accurately, it'd be my free funeral precession, given I'm not going to butcher a migratory animal simply moving to warmer climate.

But secondly, the tower was... surprisingly not that bad? It was furnished, it was connected to a library... it only had feminine outfits, which was obvious given its usual clientele, but... Frankly, I had been looking for an excuse.

Did you know that the way dragons perform thaumaturgy is simply by speaking to the world around them? They command nature to output given effects directly, skipping the aria and magic circle stages entirely! God, it makes me wonder why I even wanted to study the faeries to begin with—

But this exact revelation could've only happened if I had gotten into this scenario! The time alone, with only a dragon for company, had given me truth.

...Knights were fewer and less common than I expected, frankly. I occasionally found myself sighing wistfully at the fantasy of a gallant, golden knight, but... well, lo and Behold, not many of them were gay. News had broken that I was the prince, not princess, after all.

So, I simply waited. I could use transmutation thaumaturgy to sustain myself, along with anything the dragon didn't eat. (Though the portions were a bit... big.) Every now and again, I decided to ingrain some Rituals into the construction of the tower.

And then I waited some more. The Rituals had begun to overlap with each other. Any arcanist worth their adamantine knows that layered Rituals get exponentially more complex, but can also allow for increased thaumaturgical potency. "By ten layers, even the laws of physics could be manipulated" was a common phrase. The domain of an old arcanist was an impenetrable fortress of bending space and shifting temperatures.

... And then I waited some more. My dad hadn't even sent a letter. I would've known if he did, too! I had set up a familiar network to acquire new books and find grimoires, and ended up stationing some around the tower out of sheer boredom. They played poker every now and again when I wasn't controlling them. Not one time did I see a letter. A pigeon. Not even a sprite! Seriously!

I think even the dragon could tell it was weighing on me. I had begun to converse with them via the language I had been learning slowly, painfully and thoroughly, and was surprised at the care they had in every word.

Time had lost its meaning, frankly—it was only a vessel from which more study may be performed. So I couldn't tell you how long it had been when I begun to see "It's" presence. "It" could hardly be called a person, but "It" could also not be called an object. Only "Something."

..."It" made me wonder things I hadn't pondered before. Why was it that nobody had done anything? Over the course of this scenario, I believe I had only seen two or three people, perhaps four.

"It" brought me clothing. "It" brought me knowledge. "It" brought me energy, fervor, windows and names.

Perhaps, if I used a layered ritual, I could deceive distance itself and invert the Astral Projection process to transport my physical body across space—then, I could figure out exactly what was happening. The mind was far easier to move than the body, of course, so I could simply set a second ritual to do that after.

...The air tore itself open as I ran through the circle placed upon the floor. What was once my window to the outer sky was now my window into my old room. Cold, unused... unloved.

You got kidnapped by a dragon because your uncle, the king, had no daughters. You were the closest thing the kingdom had to a princess.

[fr-likes-chocolate]

Hello hello! Because MCYoutubers cannot stop referencing their past work, today im making the MCYTCU (minecraft youtube connected universe)

Feel free to add in in the comments with things I missed and other additions to the universe, and with that, lets get into it!

So let’s start with Hermitcraft, because of references within the series, we can assume that seasons 1-10 are all connected. (However I doubt they are in chronological order, with season 8 being the end of the world)

Moving on, in Season ten, Joel smallishbeans has made several references to Lizzie, but specifically Ocean Queen Lizzie from Empires SMP season one. This means that Hermitcraft 10 takes place during or after Empires 1.

And we can’t forget the empires 2 and hermitcraft 9 crossover. This creates a slight inconsistency with Joel’s ocean queen builds, but I've come up with two possible solutions: 1. The rift used to travel between hermitcraft and empires transports people through time as wells as space, or 2. Hermitcraft Joel found out about Ocean Queen Lizzie after both empires 1 and 2 took place.

Having connected Empires and Hermitcraft, we can now add Life series to the mix. In Empires 1, Scott references flower husbands at least twice and Martren from Wild Life was briefly featured on Hermitcraft 10. Considering that this creates another inconsistency in the timeline with Third life being way back in empires one while Wild life takes place in modern day Hermitcraft 10, I’ve decided to save myself a headache and blame it on the watchers.

(A note: I haven’t found any evidence that solidly connects the watchers and EVO to the main universe, seeing as Martyn’s Eyes and Ears au is his personal au and not canon, I’m not counting the watcher’s involvement in the life series)

Here is where the fun begins: On the QSMP, Tubbo and a few eggs were watching Secret life. (As in they had a mod that allowed them to watch it in Minecraft) and Cucuruchotio (I def misspelled that) mentions both Grian and Mumbo, meaning that QSMP takes place around the same time as Secret life.

Using that connection, we can use Philza’s lore to connect Earth SMP, the DSMP, and his personal hardcore world, seeing as Phil is the same person in all four places. (Note that Bad and Foolish also seem to be the same as their DSMP counterparts)

Continuing on with this theme, Bad and Foolish seem to be the same person in The Realm SMP as in QSMP (it’s unclear if Phil is the same person)

Now with Misadventures SMP, we have even more references to Empires 1 and 2 as well as third life with the crypts, further solidifying our universe.

Now let me wrap up a few loose ends and share some interesting tidbits before I end my yap session:

I’m not sure if Martyn’s datastream lore is canon to any of the Smps listed above, meaning I’m not sure if Rats SMP, Pirates SMP, and any of those other SMPs are canon

I don’t watch lifesteal, but I know there are lifesteal members on The Realm, so if anyone wants to add on any contributions for that, that’s fine

FitMC’s QSMP lore makes 2b2t canon

Origins is probably not canon since origins Phil is different from his current lore

I’ve heard through the grapevine that Sausage referenced Empires on The Realm. I’ve not been able to confirm this.

Spanish speaking SMP Karmaland may also be canon due to Spanish speaking QSMP members

The Portuguese Arkanis may be canon as well for the same reasons

Empires 2 and The Realm both have Skulk corruption arcs

likewise, DSMP's egg is eerily similar to Empires 1's xornoth corruption

there are like 5 different Scott Smajors running around

Anyways, I may attempt to make a timeline, but this is literally just a 'lol what if' post made for fun, have fun using it for AUs and Fics as you so please. (And maybe tag me in them because I like seeing these)

as I said before, if something I said was incorrect or there's something I missed, feel free to comment or reblog your addition!

[mimikyusrealform]

dreamcatcher

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1765.

Summary: Haunted and housed by the warmth of a paramedic who comforted him after the Anthrax incident.

Around her eyes there's traces of blue kohl. Spencer remembers the blue, from before. The light had been blue; there had been red, too, but it was indistinct and blurry. The blue had been clear; he could have held it in his hands. Deep down, he knows it’s just the ambulance's lights. The moment is gone.

She's skipping and skimming through his kitchen. In nothing but a Nirvana t-shirt and underwear. It's been a while now since the sight has flustered him. She's barefoot. He's told her many times not to be barefoot in the kitchen, but she never listens.

Spencer watches her. If he could, he would watch her every second. Even when he blinks, he is watching her. It's sweetly disgusting. It’s when you love someone, in a moment that is the blink of eternity—it’s living by a love trapped in that moment, even if it is gone. There's a 4/10 second delay in the brain. It takes 13 milliseconds for the information in the retinas to get to the brain. He lives in the past.

“You should put on shoes,” he says. For the pattern, the comfortable repetition.

She smiles at him. She skips and skims through his apartment like it's a compacted universe, balancing two heavy cups and a plate of cookies. He takes the plate from where it's lodged between her brachium and antebrachium, within her elbow. She settles both cups down; settles herself across him.

“I don't know how you do it.” She waves a hand at his cup of coffee, carelessly, a movement beyond logic. “Honestly, I would like to open up your stomach, to see if there's truly a black hole in there. Did you swallow that, too? How you do it. How can you drink this much sweetness and not die?”

There's a point when sweetness becomes spoiled. Vulgar, even, she finishes.

“I think you're being dramatic,” he says simply. He leans to peer at his coffee, the whipped cream swirling atop of it. It's pretty nice.

“I'm not being dramatic. I'm not dramatic.” She folds one of her legs against her chest after picking up her cup. “Explain our connection to monkeys,” she asks, because she's cradling her coffee and munching on a cookie and she likes hearing him talk. He complies.

“The common theory is that we descend from monkeys. But that is not it. Well, not quite it. What the theory actually defines is that humans share an ape ancestor with the chimpanzees. What you would say it's survival of the fittest is known as natural selection—the term associated with Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace. Roughly paraphrased, nature selects the mutations of a species that are best suited to survive in the current environment and this results in transformations coded in the DNA of the next life. That is the reason behind what we call a human.”

She is quiet, musing, for a while. He figures out it's because the chocolate from the cookie is melting on her tongue, and that's a religious experience. “Spencer,” she says suddenly, like she had an epiphany. “Why am I here?”

He falters. There's a crack when the cookie between his long and bony fingers snaps. “W-what do you mean?” He peels both parts of the cookie away from each other. It's for the best of them.

She purses her lips. Her beautiful mouth, twisted in distaste, or something wry. “There's something scary about the people who unknowingly use others.” There's a pause in time, like the world is submerged in resin. His eyes are static and his ears are full of static. She notices this. “I don't mean you. I was just—saying. Because I say a lot of things, you know that, you shouldn't pay attention to everything I say. It would be like drinking unfiltered water.”

“Of course,” he says faintly, tries to smile.

She means him. She wouldn't have made the clarification if she hadn't meant him. Of course, he couldn't blame her. She's here because he uses her to balm his loneliness. She's here because he's selfish, and his body is meager and sensible. He lives in a grave made by his bones pressing against his flesh and his nerves lightning stricken by the colors. And she's the flowers and vines that grow around his grave.

“You're here,” he says slowly, “because you needed an apartment, and I had an apartment in need of a roommate.”

“Right,” she smiles brightly, but that's because of the angle he sees her at. The overhead light makes her smile brilliant and dim at the same time, depending on the perspective. “Right. Uhm. How are the cookies?”

Stale. “Sweet. Good.”

Her eyes are framed with blue kohl, just like the night. That night, well, that day. The belief of God has never haunted him, nor has housed him. He thinks the blue around her eyes is the same as the one that drowned him at the edge of death. Before she fished him from it, still flapping and flailing like a real fish from the exposure to Anthrax.

He understands divinity, primitively as opposed to intellectually, as he convulses on a gurney. He sees her—divine—in flashes. “Stay with me,” her mouth says, over the shoulder of another paramedic. It's a perfect mouth, so he stays, because it's a terribly beautiful sight. He slips back into unconsciousness with the picture of her glistening teeth between her lips burned in his brain. It stays with him.

He's firm in forgetting about her for four months before he asks—pleads, begs—Garcia to find her, with nothing but a first name and a face. They've been texting for two months when she tells him she's searching for an apartment and he tells her you could live with me. No understanding what that would entail or intending to find out whatsoever. He said it because he liked her and wanted her and desired her; not because he knew her.

When she moved in with him, the first thing that should have alarmed him was Coronel. Her cat. Her cat was named Coronel, after the character in Gabriel García Márquez's book, El coronel no tiene quien le escriba. He had worriedly informed her that his building doesn't allow pets. She had smiled—that brilliant, radiant smile—and easily, so easily, resolved to just—give her cat up for adoption. Give her cat of three years up for adoption. Spencer has never had pets, but he imagines it should be heartbreaking to let one go. She hadn't seemed to mind. She doesn't seem to mind, or even think about Coronel anymore. It hadn't alarmed him, back then. Now, it sort of feels like it was a premonition.

Living with her is like tasting honey in a bitter tea. It's the small things with her.

She is the type of person that decants for the “red is the color of our blood” explanation as to why red is generally associated with danger. This is why all the important Post-it notes she sticks to the fridge are written in red. The self-centered notes to remind him of her amazingness are in blue. The fun comments are in orange. Random scientific facts are in pink. Small things that brighten up his days.

Whenever Spencer wakes up, however ungodly the hour it is, he finds his fridge restocked with a new note, sometimes two. He's never managed to catch her in the act. One time, he went to sleep at midnight and woke up at 2:00 a.m. to grab a glass of water and found tomorrow's note already set up. He woke up again later at 7:00 a.m. and found a different note on the fridge.

“What's the most beautiful part of the human body to you?” she asks him abruptly, as if nothing happened before. He takes the peace offering. The cookie between her teeth crunches when she bites it. She takes the rest of it in her hand. “As you've never watched porn, you're the only guy I trust enough to give a reasonable answer.”

His eyebrows pinch together. He clears his throat. “I've watched porn,” he says in a nasal voice, because that's the type of retort she would smile at. Lo and behold, she smiles. Satisfied, he rambles, “The Greeks were fixated on the human body, but it was mostly on the human male body. The female body was associated with fertility, but the male one was representative of glory, athleticism and health. As the fall of Rome gave way to medieval times, those ideas fell as well, and the human body was instead seen as nothing more than a frail container of the soul. Actually, it was seen as dirty and unholy. It wasn't until the Renaissance that the Greek values were reintegrated into art and science, and the human body was again exalted for its beauty. Fun fact: Leonardo da Vinci dissected corpses, and used them to both model his sculptures and make very, very detailed drawings of human anatomy.”

She is looking at him, swirling her cup of bitter dark coffee. He thinks she is beautiful in a way that couldn't be communicated, just admired. “My favorite part of the human body is the arms, up to the hands,” she tells him. “The forelimbs of all mammals are constructed from the same basic skeletal elements. That's fascinating to me.” She pauses to take a sip of her coffee; he waits patiently for her to finish. “It’s either that or the hair. I've never dated a guy I could imagine balding. But then, you didn't answer my question.”

After some careful thinking, he says, “The mouth.”

Instantly, she throws a napkin from the coffee table at his face. It lands perfectly; it hangs from the tip of his nose. “That’s such a man-answer!” she exclaims indignantly.

He stammers, “No, it's not!” And throws the napkin back at her, though unlike him, she catches it midair. “It’s not the eyes, but there's nothing inherently objectifying or sexual about my answer!”

“I would actually prefer it if you had said you like tits!” she replies brazenly, loudly. “The mouth is so obscene to me! Like, that's the organ from where words come out! It's practically public indecency!”

Spencer chokes on his sweet coffee. Then, he bursts out laughing, and she laughs with him, and their hearts must beat and bleed the same.

Still, he worries her love is just as flighty as she is.

He worries that she is ephemeral, like a dream, and he is the fool trying to catch her.

[sylusonychinus]

Episode Four: Playing the Part

Series Masterlist

Reader stood in Sylus’s penthouse, her mind spinning from the bombshell he had just dropped. She had spent the better part of the last few days adjusting to her bizarre new role as Sylus Qin’s personal maid-turned-fake fiancée, only to find out she had unknowingly become a pawn in a much larger game.

An auction house. Underground. Illegal. Dangerous. And Sylus—Sylus was at the center of it all.

She sat stiffly on the edge of the leather sofa, gripping the hem of her dress. Her gaze flicked up to Sylus, who was casually pouring himself a drink, his movements unhurried as though discussing criminal enterprises was as mundane as reviewing hotel operations.

“You run the auction house?” Reader asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “What gave it away? The part where I knew everyone there, or the fact that I bought you for a billion dollars?”

Her stomach twisted. “That’s not funny.”

“Relax,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “I didn’t put you there. That was an… oversight.”

“Oversight?” she snapped, standing up. “You mean to tell me that people like me—people who accidentally break a vase—end up being sold in cages, and it’s just business as usual for you?”

Sylus set his glass down, his red eyes sharp as they locked onto hers. “First of all, I don’t sell people. That’s not my business. The auction house is a means to an end—a tool to build connections with… powerful individuals. And before you ask, yes, some of those individuals are less than savory. But you’d be surprised how useful those connections are in this world.”

Her brows furrowed. “Connections like Maria?”

Sylus’s lips twitched, a mixture of annoyance and amusement crossing his face. “Ah, Maria. The lovely daughter of a renowned mafia boss from Linkon.”

Reader’s eyes widened. “Wait—mafia boss?”

He nodded, a trace of exasperation in his tone. “Her father is one of my biggest ‘clients.’ He sent her in his place to attend the auction, and she’s been… attached ever since.”

Reader crossed her arms. “Attached, huh? Sounds like she has a crush.”

“An unhealthy one,” Sylus muttered. “Maria has a penchant for getting what she wants, and she’s convinced I’m on her wishlist.”

Reader raised a brow. “And you don’t like her?”

Sylus gave her a pointed look. “Do I strike you as the type to tolerate people like her?”

“Well,” she began, shrugging, “you are tolerating me.”

A laugh burst from him, deep and genuine. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Why don’t you just tell her to back off?” Reader pressed.

His expression darkened slightly. “Maria isn’t the kind of person you brush off. Not without consequences. And upsetting her father isn’t exactly on my to-do list.”

Reader frowned, piecing it together. “So, you needed a way to get her off your back without causing a mess.”

“Bingo,” he said with a grin, tapping his temple. “And then, as if the universe handed me a solution on a silver platter, you showed up.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

Sylus shrugged, unbothered. “What can I say? I’m a problem solver.”

Before Reader could retort, Sylus glanced at his watch. “Speaking of problems, we have a party to attend.”

The grand ballroom of the Onychinus Casino was alive with glittering lights, soft jazz music, and the quiet hum of conversations between the rich and powerful. Reader adjusted her red dress nervously, feeling out of place among the opulence.

Sylus, on the other hand, looked completely at ease, dressed in a sleek black suit that contrasted sharply with his white hair and striking red eyes. He rested a hand lightly on Reader’s back as they entered, his touch sending an unexpected shiver down her spine.

“Smile,” he whispered. “You’re my fiancée tonight, remember?”

Reader forced a polite smile, though her nerves threatened to undo her. “Do I have to hold your hand too, dear?”

Sylus chuckled, leaning down to murmur, “Only if you want to sell the act. Or is it that you want to hold my hand?”

She shot him a glare, which only made him smirk wider.

As they mingled, Sylus seamlessly navigated the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and sly remarks with his guests. Reader tried to keep up, but her attention was pulled away when a familiar figure entered the room: Maria.

Maria’s emerald-green dress shimmered under the lights as she approached with her usual confident stride. Her sharp eyes zeroed in on Sylus, narrowing slightly when she noticed Reader by his side.

“Sylus,” Maria greeted, her voice honeyed but icy. “You didn’t tell me you’d be bringing… company.”

Sylus’s smile was perfectly measured, his arm tightening slightly around Reader’s waist. “Maria, meet my fiancée.”

Maria’s eyes flicked to Reader, her expression skeptical. “Your fiancée? How… sudden.”

Reader took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage she had. “It’s nice to meet you, Maria,” she said with a polite smile.

Maria’s gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, the tension was palpable. Then she smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Likewise. I wasn’t aware Sylus had settled down. You must be very… special.”

“Special doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Sylus said smoothly, his tone dripping with amusement. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

Reader clenched her jaw, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Sylus bit back a laugh, clearly entertained by her forced tone. Maria, meanwhile, didn’t look convinced.

“I suppose I’ll have to get used to the idea,” Maria said, her voice laced with false sweetness. “But Sylus, you know how I hate surprises.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” Sylus said, his red eyes glinting mischievously.

Reader held back a groan. This man was impossible.

As the evening went on, Reader found herself enduring Sylus’s constant teasing remarks and Maria’s thinly veiled hostility. But despite the chaos, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had somehow passed a test she didn’t even know she was taking.

By the end of the night, Sylus leaned down to her, his breath warm against her ear. “Not bad for your first performance. Keep this up, and I might actually start enjoying having you around.”

Reader rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, “I’m not sure I can say the same.”

Sylus grinned, his crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, you’ll warm up to me. They always do.”

Reader wasn’t so sure about that. But as she glanced at him, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d already taken the first step into a game she wasn’t ready to play.

Taglist: @nezuswritingdesk @beaconsxd @seris-the-amious @paninisstuff @mysticcollectionvoid @animegamerfox @mcdepressed290 @fries11

[cuntwrap--supreme]

My office is already short people. We have 17 routes and 17 carriers. We have 3 people to fill in for off days, sick days, etc. I work 6, sometimes 7, days a week because there aren't enough route subs to cover everyone being gone. We're desperate for people, and often pull a guy from an office an hour away because they're the only ones willing to send us people. I'm running, on average, 1.5 mail routes per day. My checks are nice, but it's taking a toll on my mental health. Cutting more people means I'm working even more, means I have even less free time, means I'm that much closer to being the next person to "go postal."

I work in a pretty rural area, too. For some it's easy to get into town and whatnot. For a good chunk, they're disabled and can't leave home easily, in part because of the disability and in part because their driveways are ass. For those people, without the postal service, they're not gonna get their meds. People won't get their bills or checks or letters from friends they can't go see. There's one kid in particular who lives in a busted old trailer straight up a mountain who comes to the box any time I'm on that route wondering if he has any mail from his friends across town, because he only leaves home to go to school and looks forward to the letters. I know old folks whose only interactions with the outside world are their daily newspapers and chatting up the mailman. I know a woman in a wheelchair whose ex husband left when she became disabled who can't leave home easily because she doesn't have the money to make her car drivable in her condition, so she gets almost everything she needs through the mail. I know a mentally handicapped man who watches through his window for the mail truck so he can come chat us up because his family mostly ignores him. It's not just mail. It's the only social interaction a lot of people get. It's their only connection to the outside world.

Furthermore, literally all of us can't stand DeJoy. Right, left, black, white. Doesn't matter. Everyone I've ever met in the post offices hates that man. After that CEO got shot, the office conversation was, "Fuck, that guy who shot him couldn't have had beef with the post office and gone after DeJoy? Maybe someone else will. We're tired of that stupid cunt!" We recently had to watch a video of DeJoy as part of a morning safety talk and like 2 seconds in one of the clerks mutes the video and said, "He's saying some dumb bullshit that no one cares about. The end!" and not even our super strict post master had much to say about it.

Everyone's been telling me that the cuts DOGE has been planning will only be post masters. That they'll have one person running 3 offices and have supervisors doing most of the work. And sure, maybe that's ok in some places. But management in my office works constantly. They're never not there. But if you're cutting 10k people, that's a lot more than just post masters and extraneous supervisors. That's carriers. That's clerks. That's making more people overworked and stressed and making more people who operate a big fucking truck lose sleep, that's making the job more dangerous. I've only been doing this job for about a year, but it's honestly the only job I've ever had that I don't mind. It stresses me the fuck out, but I don't hate the work and the pay allows me to survive without a roommate (even if money is kinda tight). The insurance is cheap because it's a government job, meaning I can take care of my health. They currently match up to like 5% of your income that's put into a retirement fund. Once in a career position, your student loans disappear after 10 years of service, so long as you've been paying on them. 20 years served is retirement. You don't get any of that if shit goes private. Wages will go down. Volume will go down. People won't be getting their mail unless they pay $15/mo or some shit.

This isn't a job that's meant to be for profit. It's meant to get mail to people. It's a fucking public service, not a for profit business. Does it need changes? Fucking absolutely. But gutting the already short staffed offices isn't the change needed. We need unions that represent us and don't roll over for shit like DOGE. We need trucks that aren't 40 years old and run. We need maintenance that doesn't laugh at you and leave when you request new tires because yours are literally completely bald. This job is all I have right now. It's my only chance to get ahead. If that's compromised, I might be the next person to go postal. In Minecraft, of course.

Source

Source

[isetfiretomyself]

Yandere Test Subject X G/N Scientist Reader

I promise I did have something for 100 followers 😭 I spent a week drawing them all but I hated the quality and the end product soooo let's not talk about it 👀 Thank you so much for 100+ followers though, genuinely means a lot - (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡ Jay

Trigger warnings! Mentions of murder, I mean the Yandere isolated from the real world, not much else he's one of the more needy ones ┐⁠(⁠´⁠ー⁠｀⁠)⁠┌, This is all fictional I don't condone toxic behaviour irl!

Now this is the same universe as Yandere hero and Yandere Villain. When humans have so much super strength and speed of course the government was going to want to control it! There's only so much they can do with contracts and training but if they were to make a hero? They have full ownership! (Full control)

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who was the only subject because they realised too late this was a terrible idea. He was aggressive, and strong...far too strong.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject spent his whole childhood in tests and never really had a connection with anyone. Not that he wanted one, he hated all these damn people in lab coats.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who had to be chained and muzzled while getting tests done because last time he was free he broke the poor scientists arm just by grabbing it.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who was the exact same when meeting you for the first time. He snarled and growled more like an animal if anything. What he didn't understand was why you got so close.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject was even more surprised when you unchained him from the wall. Giving him a chance to walk around you.

"Can't expect you to trust me if you can't move, now can I?" you smile a little, Yandere Test Subject steps forward in your space.

You look up. he's huge, 6'4 at least. You know about his violent past as well but you know he's not going to change if your team continues treating him like this.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who was monitoring you, watching you chest rise and fall fast. You're scared like everyone else but your brave enough to stand next to him. He can't describe it, he doesn't like it but he doesn't hate it either. (poor boy was never taught how to describe his feelings)

"I'm (Reader)!" You put your hand out. All the other scientists monitoring you in another room all flinch or look away. excepting you to have your hand ripped off. "I'm new! I'll be working on your case. I'll try and help you set goals you can aim to achieve!"

🦠 Yandere Test Subject GRIPS your hand, trying to get a reaction out of you.

"And what goals would those be?" He's voice is deep and gravely, like it's been damaged. "We could take you to the garden!" You squealed out, his grip was in fact painful but you tried to hide it.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject face soften. "I got told that wasn't allowed?" He remembers destroying half of the lab because he wasn't allowed outside as a teenage. It took a whole swat team to tranquilise him.

"Well not right now but I do truly believe we can get you to that point!" You smiled.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who got used to you coming and seeing him. He would never admit it but he liked you. He was even allowed the muzzle off after promising not to bite you! (Oh Yandere Test Subject was such a biter as a child)

🦠 You felt bad for Yandere Test Subject he didn't even have a name at first!

"What's your name?"

"00."

"Oh no not your number Hun, your name?"

🦠 Yandere Test Subject was embarrassed when he realised he didn't have one, what he didn't expect was you to come in the next day with a book worth of names. He chose Malachi.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who grew incredibly attracted to you. Hugging you every morning, Obviously he got told that wasn't allowed but really try telling him no. You think that'd good well?

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who'd ask you about the real world all the time! He was envious when you'd let him about all the stuff you did but he was always fascinated by the real world.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who could finally go to the labs garden! (They finished building high enough wall around it)

It really hadn't been looked after. Everything was dead and the atmosphere was just depressing.

"Oh Malachi, I'm sorry." You felt really bad, like the worst bad you could feel. You got his hopes so high. "It's not your fault. They would of started neglecting this place years before you were even here."

His voice is low, he's upset but doesn't know how to manage it. You see his knuckles turn white has a clenches his hand into a fist.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject who was surprised when he felt you take one of his hands and started massaging it. It did help him relax a bit.

One time you were late for work because you were in the cross fire of a Villain and Hero fighting. By the time you got to work all the alarms were going off.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject had got loose trying to find you.

You were still a little disoriented when two hands grabbed your shoulders to turn you towards them. "Where were you!? Why weren't you here with me!?" Yandere Test Subject asks question after question and till he noticed the tiny cuts around your face.

You were swept off your feet and he started walking towards the medical room. By the time everyone had calmed down you were back in the observation room with Yandere Test Subject.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject was confused you had never told him about the dangers of the real world. That's what you've been coming from everyday?

🦠That night Yandere Test Subject decided he'd had enough of the little routine they had for him. When he was a young kid they could stop him but he knows his power now. Nobody had time to warn anyone or to even scream.

🦠 Yandere Test Subject was a bit embarrassed when he realised he found killing the easier part of escaping because god damn are road signs confusing. He had looked at you confidential details. He knows where you are, it's just getting to you he's struggling with.

You were laying in bed ,unable to sleep. Something just felt wrong. You got up to check your door was locked when you hear a thud from the other side. You yelp a little and go to run away till you hear "(Reader)! This is your place right?" Huh!? Why is he here!?

It didn't take you long to piece together what happened. The blood you were washing from underneath his nails proved as much. "I'm angry with you." You've learnt being blunt is the best way to be with him. "What!? Why!?" He sounds genuinely upset. "Because you hurt people! They had a life, a family!"

"They kept me there just for being alive...I think I had the right" He mumbles the last part not wanting to look you in the eyes. "I'll be good now ,I promise! If you teach me I could take care of the cleaning, the cooking, anything! Even if they realise where I've gone they're not going to remove me. They couldn't get me away from you even if they tried."

Apart from the creepy last part you realised he did have a point. They weren't going to do much about him living with you now...Great.

I like to think he then became a silly little househusband - Jay

Now I did think to celebrate you guys could choose what fic you get next!

All will be released but the order in which is up to you guys! (Apart from a secret one you'll get before the results 🤫)

[erriga]

THE QUARANTINE QUERY

(tl dr I didn't vibe with the demo for some silly and not so silly reasons)

Welcome to my special post where I will try to explain my personal problems with Quarantine and the general creative and narrative direction the next game seems to be heading towards. I decided to write a longer text instead of a couple of bullet points, because one does not simply write a thesis about a game just to later complain about it in a sarcastically laconic tone.

Things this essay is going to be:

my opinion/critique

an analysis

a reflection upon my feelings about the series in general

Things this essay is not going to be:

an angry rant about the new game in the spirit of they changed it so now it sucks

an attempt to prove that old pathologic = smart and new pathologic = stupid

Ok, with the disclaimers out of the way, let's get into it, and by it I mean levels of pretentious nerdiness unknown to many.

I wrote down four statements that describe my general feelings about the demo. They will serve as a frame of reference for what my critique will fundamentally touch upon instead of trying to fit every possible complaint I might have in a disjointed fashion. Here they are:

I feel like Quarantine expects me to:

Consider Dankovsky to be a specific Character in a specific Story

Believe Dankovsky has an internal world that can be mechanically represented in the ludo-narrative

Find said internal world to be compelling enough to let it filter the whole experience of the game

(presumably) emotionally connect with Dankovsky due to all of the above

If all this sounds confusing - good! Keep reading, it's going to get even better.

So, is Daniil a character?

Yes, of course he is. But what does it mean in the context of the original game compared to Pathologic 2 and now Quarantine?

Over the years I've come across vastly different opinions about the quality of character writing in the original Pathologic. I am not including complaints about the English translations or other technical aspects, just the most basic tendency of how the game portrays its characters. Most people I've seen who have passionately engaged with the game (including me) tend to describe the original game's characterizations as nuanced, complex and strangely realistic despite their rather theatrical tendencies. But I've also heard others say the exact opposite. That the characters don't feel like real people at all, their personalities are incoherent and fall flat due to a lack of consistency, and that every single one of them, from an old man to a literal toddler, falls back on the same pseudo-philosophical cadence, which while attempting to make them seem deeper ends up dehumanizing them even further. And even though those two opinions seem to be contradictory, I think that they are both the exact same reason why the writing of the original game captivates me so much. Because it doesn't really matter.

I wrote my thesis about the brechtian influences in Classic. One of the most characteristic aspects of the Epic Theatre is the attempt to remove illusions typical to traditional theatre, among which is the illusion of a character's psychology. I believe that you can absolutely argue that the characters in patho 1 were designed to behave like Brecht's characters - lacking internal psychology, mainly serving as mouthpieces for political and philosophical arguments, more so types than individuals. But here's the catch - I believe it's actually impossible to create a character completely immune to identification, because we as humans love to project our silly little emotions on pretty much anything, including animals and inanimate objects. Compared to those cases, Gorkhon's gallery of strange individuals is a painfully human display. So it's no wonder that many of us did indeed relate to those weirdos, just like nothing can possibly stop an audience member from identifying with Mother Courage or Galileo in Brecht's play. But the fact still remains that none of those characters were designed with this kind of simple emotional identification in mind and thus the attachment we may feel to them is more of a byproduct than the main goal. Taking a character who was meant to be analytically pondered and instead adopting them as a breathing human being is in that case, almost an act of rebellion. It's like saying, this is mine now.

Coming back to Daniil, this lack of clarity of how much he was written with this sort of characterization in mind is the main reason why I found him so compelling, he always kept me asking: is this part of Daniil as a coherent whole or is it just a philosophical stance which I should ponder at this moment or is it the writer's attempt at predicting what the player (presumably a straight male player) may want to say through this character? Does Daniil say "wow" because that's how he speaks, or is it just an oversight? Am I supposed to treat optional dialogue as things he would say or just things that are sometimes said in his world? The point is I DON'T KNOW and I love that I don't know that! It gives me so many posibilities! To me Daniil's character isn't so much about what he exactly says or does, but rather the internal logic that guides him. And I am the one who can choose its exact mechanism. He is mine.

Meanwhile, I feel like Quarantine wants me to treat Dankovsky like I would treat most other characters in traditional/popular media. Here are his personality traits. He is intelligent, he says so himself, and that lady over there also said it and he knows science and formulas and speaks Latin. Here are his thoughts. He has a memory about this thing. He feels guilty about that. I suddenly have a whole army of simple sentences that are meant to help me umderstand Daniil in this new iteration. Not so much a puzzle but a construction manual. And I'm not saying that this way of storytelling is fundamentally bad just because I can parody it as simpler than it really is. I want to engage with the new game's writing on it's own terms but so far I haven't done that mostly due to the giant dankovsky shaped object blocking the view.

Speaking of-

THE BACHELOR-CENTRIC MODEL OF THE UNIVERSE

This demo is so much about Dankovsky that it almost makes me embarrassed in his name. And honestly, I'm surprised I feel that way, considering how much I usually enjoy stories where a character's perception shapes the narrative to a great extent. I love symbolic dream sequences, guilt-driven visions and unreliable narrators. But the way Daniil's perception of himself and his surroundings doesn't really feel like a service to him as a character, but rather a narrative shorthand to spoonfeed me, the player, the most relevant information. The way Daniil's thoughts appear around objects is realistic to the extent that yes, human thoughts can be often rather simple and disjointed but there are moments where I think this mental streamlining is detrimental to his characterization and rubs him of nuance. The worst culprits of that are (IN MY OPINION):

Him calling Eva a ray of sunshine

The part where he references the fact that he and Artemy always fight about whose methods are better

Any time Daniil or someone around him refers to him as especially intelligent

Mr Little's Special Tutorial Perspective or Please Daniil Explain This To Me Once Again

None of those ideas are fundamentally bad, not at all. I'm curious to see his relationship with Eva develop, I want to see him interact with Artemy more like they did in the original, I can see some great ironic potential in the constant hyping up of Daniil's intellect and yeah, I hope Yakov is revealed to be some secret government agent or something. But I'm annoyed that I feel like I can predict all of this from just a couple of lines in the demo. I want to be confused and unsure of my own judgement. I want to be proven wrong, surprised, and ashamed of my own surface level analysis. And that can still very much happen, perhaps even in the comments on this very post or once the full games comes out. But right now I feel rather pessimistic.

I don't have a good segue for this part so now let's talk mechanics.

PRESS B TO EAT A CIGARRETE

The new mechanics try to break away from the body-first focus of the original game and the way Pathologic 2 expanded on those ideas even further. This time it's all about the mind, baby. Which - again - on itself isn't a bad idea. If this game was just 2 with different dialogues it would be very hard to justify its existence as a stand-alone product that needed to somehow be funded over those last 6 years. But the result to me feels more like novelty for novelty's sake. Not everything of course - the diagnosis part of the gameplay is definitely its most well-designed aspect, and there is a consistent logic behind it. Where Artemy saw systems, Daniils sees individual parts, where Artemy had to rely on luck, Daniil controls all the variables etc etc. The same, however, cannot be said about some of the other new mechanics.

Managing Daniil's mental state doesn't feel that much different than making sure Artemy drinks enough water and I personally think it's a wasted opportunity. I'm not going to insert myself into the discussion about whether the game's use of terms associated with bipolar disorder is accurate/tasteful because other people with relevant experiences have already voiced their opinions about that and will hopefully continue to do so in the future. My point is - regardless of what exact mental condition or more general function of the human psyche the game is trying to convey, it does so in a manner so simplistic that it doesn't encourage me as a player to connect with it on a deeper level. Apathy is blue because it's sad, Mania means, well, mania so it's red. Once again, I have only experienced a small portion of the game's final system so I might be in for a surprise and perhaps I will get to see Daniil experience something... purple?

Also adding to my previous point about switching perspectives - I think this mechanic will be an absolute gut punch in the final game. I hope it's something akin to the original meeting with the Powers That Be, especially with the way multiple characters can "jump" into one conversation at any moment. This will surely be utilized for some mind-fuckery and I can't wait to see it. I think this is also the one aspect of the demo that gives me the most hope as far as my beloved emotional confusion is concerned. Because what is the switching of perspectives supposed to indicate really? Are we supposed to filter it once again through Daniil's perspective because of the framing device of him recollecting the events? So nothing we learn by getting the insight into other characters' thoughts can be taken at face value because that's just how Daniil sees them? Are those other/new characters even real or just exist in Daniil's psyche? Does it have something to do with the time travel blahblah? Or are we not playing as Daniil at all but some other entity entirely? That's the main question I hope I don't get a clear answer to but rather contradicting paths to follow. But despite that optimistic outlook I still need to get into the final aspect that made it difficult for me to engage with the new game on its own terms, and instead deciding to take its dead corpse apart.

I CARE TOO MUCH BUT NOT ENOUGH

I just can't get over the fact how much this game wants me to identify with Daniil or at the very least find him cool. Cool as in how modern characters are often cool. Wet cats, chaotic bastards, jerks with hearts of gold and vaguely homoerotic energy with other male characters. And I'm not saying this as an insult, narrative trends are a thing, I find many of those archetypes to be endearing more often than not, but my problem is that it still only serves Dankovsky as our center of the world. By flanderizing him and making him fit into a more recognizable character archetype we lose the feeling of him being always at odds with the world around him, the way he used to be conflicted over every single thing in the original game. This new world is too suited for him to be a hero of his story, a tragic hero but a hero nonetheless, while in my opinion what made him uniquely tragic in classic was precisely the fact that he wasn't anyone's hero.

I know this constant comparison to patho classic can get tiring, so let me use another point of reference which is also the reason why I am even writing this post in the first place - The Marble Nest. I love the marble nest. I find its narrative structure to be expertly crafted, emotional beats placed in just the right places and godd i still cry over the fact that they put his soul into a nutshell. And the funny thing is that TMN does share a lot of similarities with the new demo. It's a Daniil-centric story with a framing device that encourages us to look at the entire experience as Daniil's impression of the reality around him. It's a short and rather simple experience with a strong central theme. So why do I feel so emotional when Daniil talks to the death in that game but feel pretty much nothing when he talk about dying in Quarantine? Maybe because The Marble Nest is still steeped so deeply in the theatre influences which I hold dear to my heart while Quarantine moves away from them and maybe towards another medium entirely. Theatre never pretends to be reality and it's artificiality is always front and center. Film meanwhile often has the tendency to try to replicate reality or even try to be reality itself. In one of those cases I feel like an active audience member and in the other like a passive voyeur of some vision of reality. Or to put it simply, in one case I am afraid of Death and in the other, I am watching someone act out being afraid of death. That is a highly personal preference though and I'm genuinely happy to see that many people do indeed relate to this portrayal of Daniil, especially when it comes to how his mental problems are displayed front and center. And that's amazing! I want to see all the fan input that comes out of it and I hope the final game delivers on everything they hope for. But for me? I think I might need to take a back seat, at least for now. Watch the scene from afar, perhaps get a fuller picture. Because I want to care and understand and know and feel. I really do. But sometimes it's not possible and that's also good.

So, if you've read this overwritten mess to the end, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart and encourage you to voice your opinion. Art doesn't exist without discussion so let's discuss!

POST-SCRIPTUM - ON THE NATURE OF MAKING GOOD THINGS IN YOUR PAST

One last thing I wanted to add which feels highly relevant to the my critique is the question of what to do when someone says they liked your old work better? I like to think of myself as an artist and I think that many of us do, even without getting into how according to Beuys everyone is an artist. So you make a thing, some people like, perhaps many people do. So you keep making things, you grow with them, change, realize your old ideas were often childish or naive which you can only do through gaining experience. So you make new things, often drastically different from the ones you made before. And someone says "I liked the old stuff better". And they don't say it as an insult, even though it may sometimes feel like it. Because you cannot recreate whatever you did in your past. And you want to grow. Does that mean that you got worse instead? That you peaked in your past and it's all downhill from here? Of course not. You know that. I know that. I hope every artist knows that. And yet it still hurts. It hurts to be perceived as a line graph when in reality you are a recursive function.

----

all images made by me, the ones with yellow background are from a shitpost animatic, the white one was a joke I made after hearing the famous"sherlock mind palace fruit ninja" pitch, and the last one is me in my Daniil cosplay. Goodnight Bikini Bottom

[ka2ki2]

AN UPDATE TO THIS POST

so, we've learned MUCH more than we knew before. a lot of these expies no longer hold up. i'll make a badly-formatted dump of some of the places where i've changed my mind:

castorice seems most like an expy of seele, specifically seele as the herrscher of rebirth. i know we already have a seele, but we also have 2 bronyas already, so... whatever.

similar appearance & personality

association with butterflies

castorice is already associated with death, which is intrinsically connected to rebirth

castorice is said to have 'another half' which was taken by thanatos; seele has 'another half' (velonia)

castorice's purple is like a mixture of seele blue & velonia red

cerydra is an expy of fu hua. they look very similar in silhouette. i'm also pretty sure she's going to carry the coreflame of law

it's said the Chrysos Heir bearing the coreflame of Law has been doing their duty off the grid. it fits how dutiful fu hua is.

Castorice: Talanton surrendered their Coreflame, though the Chrysos Heir taking over their legacy is... nowhere to be found today.  Phainon: At least the laws that govern our world are still in place. So that demigod must be performing their duty still, no matter where they are.

in tribbie's lore, it is said that "time [...] shaped cerydra". fu hua, too, had been alive since the previous era.

"Tribbie: Until Cerydra found us. It was she who united the Chrysos Heirs and turned the prophecy into law."

hysilens is confirmed to bear the coreflame of Ocean via protean hero stuff.

I actually think hysilens might be an expy of eden.

they bear a physical resemblance. same exact hairstyle is really notable

phagousa, the ocean titan, is heavily associated with drinking / drunken revelry. Eden is notable for drinking wine a lot.

phagousa is called the 'chalice of plenty'. eden was very rich and very generous as well, fitting the idea of 'plenty'.

eden was an extremely popular singer. phagousa's blessings in protean hero are called things like "swan song"- often associated with music.

of course, this probably means aglaea is not connected to eden at all.

as for hyacine- the griseo connection is basically nonexistent, but they do both have a celestial connection-- griseo = star, hyacine = sky. however, this one's under severe doubt.

tribios as mobius actually works really well, it turns out! she's like an inverted-colors mobius- her hair is red where mobius is green, her dress is white where mobius is black, and her eyes are blue where mobius's are pink-tinted. additionally...

adult tribios's dress and hair give her similar silhouette to mobius. not to mention that mobius had the signet of infinity & tribios is the demigod of the gate of infinity...

mobius is also named after the mobius strip, which is like, you twisted a strip and now people can walk from one side of the strip to the other. which somehow works "passage" in my head. i may be insane ahaha

plus, mobius has klein, which is adjacent to how all the tribbies are mini little guys now.

and most importantly, THEY HAVE THE SAME VOICE ACTOR!!

phainon, mydei, anaxa, cifera, and cyrene were obvious from the beginning. nothing has changed there.

i have other theories and thoughts, of course, but i'll leave it here as they're all irrelevant to this particular topic

Chrysos Heirs

people who play both hi3 and hsr are WINNING rn

anyway. i've determined likely flamechaser parallels for a majority of the chrysos heirs. most of them do not actually look like their flamechaser counterparts, which makes me think they're not direct expies but merely parallels.

I also sprinkled some minor analysis of what little lore we have on these guys. Amphoreus is massively inspired by greek mythology.

watch this before reading!

Aglaea = Eden (both associated with gold)

Eden owned the Elysian Realm previously, but at that time it was called the Golden Courtyard

Eden is also called the Bearer of the Gold Signet

Aglaea is called the Goldweaver

You're not going to believe this-- Aglaea is named after the Charis called Aglaea.

The mythological Aglaea basically runs errands for Aphrodite, which would explain why HSR Aglaea bears the Coreflame of Romance.

HSR Aglaea is from the city of Okhema. In greek thought (plato I think?), Okhema is an intermediary between the body and the soul. I did as much research as I could and the best I could figure out is "it carries the soul through rebirth". SORRY IF THAT'S WRONG-

HSR Aglaea has the "divine authority of mnestia". After lots of research, I think mnestia can be loosely translated to Remembrance, so perhaps that's the Amphorean way of saying she's a pathstrider of Remembrance?

Aglaea's drip marketing references the myth of Prometheus, where Prometheus stole fire from the gods and returned/gave it to humanity.

Tribbie = Vill-V (multiple 'selves') [edit: i now think it's mobius]

Tribbie is called the "three-faced messenger"

We see Tribbie adopt multiple personas in the video. She can even take multiple forms at once

Vill-V has partitioned her personality into 8 different segments

EDIT, it's probably mobius. mobius has the signet of infinity; tribbie's divine authority is the gate of infinity

tribbie is from Janusopolis and her divine authority is also called Janus, which is absolutely perfect for someone connected to messengers/passage. Janus is the roman god of beginnings, endings, transitions, doorways, etc.

Anaxa = Su (both associated with knowledge/enlightenment)

Anaxa is said to have "enough knowledge to refute faith, and to stir up a torrent capable of slaying gods."

Su is called the Enlightened of Bodhi, Enlightened One, and other similar titles.

These two have lots of physical similarity

Anaxa's namesake has some interesting connections with Nous actually

Hyacine = Griseo (both Asleep)

In the video, when Hyacine is on-screen it says "let the sky become the slumbering cot from which she wakes".

Due to the 8th Honkai Eruption, Griseo fell into a deep sleep.

Could be named after Hyacinthus

Mydei = Kalpas (fire in battle)

In the video, Mydei is seen in a post-battle poise surrounded by fire.

Kalpas is constantly surrounded by fire during battle.

Both characters constantly seek out fighting/strife.

Mydei is likely related to the greek god Deimos

He is from the city Castrum Kremnos. Castrum = a fortified military base; Kremnos = a steep place or precipice. so picture a fort on a cliff ig

His divine authority is "Lance of Fury, Nikador". My thought is Nikador is related to Nike, goddess of victory?

One of the unnamed people has a mask too though, but these guys are too similar in aesthetic and personality

Cipher = Pardofelis (...come on.)

Cat girls.

Same eye and hair color

Castorice = Aponia? (butterfly theming)

Castorice is pictured with butterflies both in the video and in the twitter art. These butterflies look highly similar to the butterfly motif in Aponia's design

Aponia is very strongly associated with butterflies. Her dress is patterned like one and she has butterfly wings in her ult

Both seem to have devastating levels of power

IDK about the greek origins for this one. Castor? Kratos (who is actually a child of the Styx)?

Phainon = Kevin (deliverance)

Yeah they're both related to deliverance. They literally outright said deliverance in the video, and Kevin bears the Deliverance Signet.

Also they look EXACTLY THE SAME

Also both seem to be the 'leader'

In mythology, Phainon is the star of Cronus/Saturn (cuz they thought saturn was a star)

Cyrene = Elysia (...COME ON.)

They look identical and have almost the exact same personality

i have yet to figure out the two unnamed ones, Hysilens, and Cerydra. nor can i find their name origins... the closest i found, after ages of digging, is this for Hysilens

the remaining flame-chasers are Kosma, Sakura, Fu Hua, and Mobius. only one of the unknown people seems to be male ("unknown 2"), so that one's probably Kosma.

And yeah that's the culmination of me losing my mind for the past 6 hours. lucky you, you didn't have to watch me try and fail to decipher what the 12 titans might be connected to. (greek titans, 12 olympians, and HSR aeons all didn't line up easily waaaaaa)

here's the failed attempt to figure out the aeons if anyone else gets ideas from this

OK thanks for reading. normally I post my loredumps in discord servers with my friends. this is my first time posting it anywhere abfiushdliueh

EDIT: after recent drip marketing, it's clear that tribbie is actually connected to mobius. as mobius has the signet of infinity, and tribbie's divine authority is called "janus, gate of infinity".

I also added a small amount of info to both tribbie and mydei about their greek/roman inspos

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Can you please go into more detail about what you think has been happening at Sentebale from your professional experience and also from your royal watching experience too? Do you think the same has been happening at SussexRoyal, MWX, Archewell, American Rivera Orchard, As Ever, Travelyst etc.

Sentebale

First, I want to clear up some misinformation and rumors about Sentebale that I'm seeing on other blogs and forums: Sentebale did not receive the majority of its budget from USAID. You can check Sentebale's own annual reporting. The most recent annual report is 2023, in which they reported receiving approximately $213,000 from USAID and the UN. That is not a lot of money. To the federal government, that's like the equivalent of buying a 12-pack of crayons.

The other Sentebale/USAID rumor I've seen is that USAID gave Sentebale $51.4 million. No, that did not happen. USAID gave the country of Lesotho $51.4 million, earmarked for HIV/AIDS, over a period of five years cumulatively. It's possible that Sentebale got some of that money, but they did not get all of that money.

So USAID's foreign assistance getting turned off is likely not the source of Sentebale's current financial crisis. Reading the 2023 annual report, it sounds like most of Sentebale's money is raised from private donors. The NGO assistance from USAID and the UN is a small, insignificant portion of their overall budget.

(Lastly: I don't care what your political stripes are. This is not the post to be linking USAID to fraud and corruption. I will be blocking everyone who talks about that in any reblogs or comments. This is your only warning.)

But all of that said, I feel pretty confident saying that Sentebale does have financial issues of some kind. Look at the 2023 financial statement, which is included in the 2023 annual report:

The TL;DR of this worksheet is that expenditures (money going out) are rising while income (money going in) are declining.

This is not unique to Sentebale. It's a reflection of the economic downturn that many people and countries around the world are struggling with. And in fact, Sentebale's annual report says just this:

In my opinion, declining income means donors aren't giving or they're not giving big bucks anymore. For me, that's a ding on the board and the patrons because they're the ones who do a lot of schmoozing with the donors to raise money. From what I've seen of Harry...well, he plays polo twice a year and that's really all we know about his kind of charity work. I don't think he's courting donors the way he needs to, or should be, and I think that's a systemic problem in his approach to charity work - he and Meghan both seem to be resting on their titles and expecting the money to come rolling in because of that, plus their connection to the BRF.

The annual report also includes a statement on trustee responsibilities, which outlines their duties and responsibilities to Sentebale.

Knowing some of the complaints/concerns that Dr. Chandauka raised in her statement to The Sun, I suspect there's something going on here with their responsibilities as well, probably related to policies and records management. They aren't glamorous areas of responsibility - like when you join a board, you don't think about compliance requirements, you're usually thinking of all the fun, cool stuff you're going to do - so either the compliance work will get the barest minimum of attention or it'll get pushed to the Chair to do.

And that's kind of what I'm feeling is happening: the board isn't doing compliance (or hasn't done compliance well) so Dr. Chandauka has had to step in and now the board is upset because they don't like the way she's doing it and/or the decisions she's making.

SussexRoyal/MWX Foundation

I don't know a whole lot about these two charities. I know that Harry and Meghan intended for SussexRoyal to be their version of the Royal Foundation, but as per one of the books (Finding Freedom? Revenge?), it was incorporated in the wrong way.

There are two ways to incorporate a charitable organization. I'm fuzzy on all of the specific details, but it more or less boils down to one way has less oversight, the other way has more oversight. SussexRoyal was incorporated in the "more oversight" way, while Harry and Meghan wanted it in the "less oversight" way. Why did they want this, I can only guess, and it's because they planned to use the organization not so much for nonprofit charitable work but as a way to reduce their own personal expenses by charging SussexRoyal instead.

All I know about MWX Foundation is that after they were told they can't use "royal" and Meghan had her little hissy fit, they launched MWX Foundation and moved all of the SussexRoyal assets there.

Where the snafu with the Royal Foundation happened is that when the Sussexes left, William and the Royal Foundation gave them a little bit of seed money so they could launch SussexRoyal/MWX Foundation. This is perfectly normal, it happens all the time, but there are certain laws, rules, and regulations to follow. The Charity Commission received a complaint that the transfer of funds was fraudulently done because it was about the brothers' relationship more so than the charitable organizations. (It sounds to me like someone was upset that they donated to the Royal Foundation but the check was cashed by SussexRoyal, which is a legitimate complaint.)

While the commission's investigation cleared the transactions between RF and MWX, the investigation did ding MWX on their documentation and recordkeeping...aka compliance. Their findings specifically said that MWX was spending too much on administration (meaning operating expenses and salaries), that it was concerning how quickly they closed the charity's operations, and the documentation wasn't as complete as it could have been.

Travalyst

So Harry's Travalyst organization was part of the RF/MWX investigation. The seed money that RF gave to MWX was later given to Travalyst.

And what do we know about Travalyst? ... Nothing. They don't put out any kind of annual reports or statements, so it's not really clear what they do, other than something having to do with sustainable travel.

A lot of people have a lot of questions about Travalyst.

For me, I think Travalyst is a way for Harry to get kickbacks from the travel industry in the name of conservation/environmentalism. I truly do believe that a lot of the traveling we see him (and Meghan) do is organized through Travalyst in a way that not only lets them write off all their expenses and taxes to someone else's checkbook, but also allows them to fly private and say they're helping the environment.

Major eyerolls from me here.

Archewell

Tragic name aside, I feel like Archewell was well-intentioned but poorly executed in the way that all things Sussex are. Archewell is/was definitely set up the way Meghan wanted, with as little oversight as possible.

And the thing about Archewell is that a lot of the problems they were dinged on for SussexRoyal/MWX Foundation, those problems followed them to Archewell. They have significant administration costs and their recordkeeping is lax (because they're always late on tax filings).

They do actually have good programming with Archewell, once you look past how odious and insufferable Meghan and Harry are. But the programming gets lost underneath the way the Sussexes use Archewell for self-promotion (which is true about a lot of these celeb-led charities), the downside to which is the assumption (and rumors) that the Sussexes use Archewell for a personal piggy bank, despite the record "showing" they work only one hour a week and don't draw a salary.

Speaking for myself only, my impression of Archewell is like a mafia-run restaurant. You don't actually see anyone in the restaurant (Archewell doesn't actually do anything) but year after year after year, the restaurant still stays open. Someone is bankrolling their operation because they don't seem to make any profit. Plus the fact that it's both a non-profit and a for-profit umbrella...gives me the icks.

ARO/As Ever

We might as well lump these two together because they're the same thing.

And just like with Archewell, the issues from SR/MWX continue to follow Meghan: insufficient documentation and lax recordkeeping, because she can't get her trademark and copyright applications correct.

This isn't a non-profit, it's an entirely for-profit organization selling goods and products, so a lot of the rules that apply to AW/SR/MWX don't apply here. I would not be surprised if there are invisible strings connecting Archewell to As Ever - for instance, maybe Meghan used money from Archewell to launch As Ever, versus her own money.

Invictus Games

I did a deep dive on their financials last year and much of it still remains valid. I don't know much else about Invictus Games as a nonprofit, so this will have to do.

The End

So if we look at the Sussexes' history as leaders of their own charitable organizations...they kinda suck. Because here's what we know:

There was actual evidence of mismanagement from the 2020 Charity Commission investigation pertaining to compliance and recordkeeping.

There are similar issues with documentation and recordkeeping in Archewell and As Ever.

Donations to Sentebale and Invictus Games are going down while expenditures are going up.

Harry is checked out of Invictus Games, showing up only for events (aka the games).

Harry is checked out of Sentebale, showing up only for events (aka polo).

Harry is checked out of Archewell, showing up only for events (aka paid speeches in NYC) - otherwise, it's largely Meghan's charity vehicle.

What even is Travalyst?

And I didn't include African Parks in this round-up, but we also know that Harry is checked out of African Parks and tends to show up only when there's an event.

Yes, that technically is what being a patron means - you lend your starpower to the organization so they can raise money or awareness, but most other patrons are also involved in the work, attending calls and reading reports and actually helping with the fundraising. That isn't what Harry does. He shows up for the bare minimum to collect his fee. That's what the historical record shows. That's what the safe assumption to make is.

So am I surprised that there's strife at Sentebale? No, not at all. Because it seems to follow Harry. He's so checked out otherwise, focusing only on how he can use charity work for attention and PR. He's not going to do anything with compliance. He just wants to collect his check and get content for a PR campaign.

And I think with Sentebale, it's finally caught up to him. It's caught up to him in a way that the African Parks scandal didn't, and I think it's for two reasons: 1) how much more personally affiliated Harry is to Sentebale, which makes him that much more personally responsible, and 2) that Harry has successfully affiliated Diana to Sentebale.

And I would put good money on Harry's accountability having everything to do with his mother's memory. He does not want Diana connected to any negativity or criticism, which honestly is very fair of him. I would also even suggest that the way Harry's PR keeps connecting Sentebale to Diana means he may have been able to use her memory to get whatever he wanted out of the board, and possibly donors too, but either Dr. Chandauka doesn't fall for that or the changes she made/wants to make doesn't leave room for Diana worship/guilt.

But as I've said before, and as I will keep saying, there's a lot we don't know about what's happening at Sentebale so I continue to urge everyone to tread carefully here.